


Ace in the Hole

by p1013



Series: Sterek PWP [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, M/M, POV Stiles Stilinski, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: Stiles doesn't know how they get to Derek's hotel room. The door slams shut behind them, and Derek's pressing Stiles against it, his hands hard and hot against Stiles's hips. There's a hint of claws when Derek's fingertips press into Stiles's skin, and the sting makes his pulse race. It's not fear that's sending his heart rocketing in his chest; it's lust."You'd better have lube," Stiles says against Derek's mouth, and he swallows down the groan that his words force out."Shut up." Derek pulls away, his eyes wild and hair mussed. A thrill race through Stiles, knowing that he's done that to the man. "And get on the bed."
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Sterek PWP [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701787
Comments: 16
Kudos: 268





	Ace in the Hole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clotpolesonly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/gifts).



Stiles doesn't know how they get to Derek's hotel room. The door slams shut behind them, and Derek's pressing Stiles against it, his hands hard and hot against Stiles's hips. There's a hint of claws when Derek's fingertips press into Stiles's skin, and the sting makes his pulse race. It's not fear that's sending his heart rocketing in his chest; it's lust.

"You'd better have lube," Stiles says against Derek's mouth, and he swallows down the groan that his words force out.

"Shut up." Derek pulls away, his eyes wild and hair mussed. A thrill race through Stiles, knowing that he's done that to the man. "And get on the bed."

Not one to follow directions usually, Stiles nearly falls over as he throws himself toward the king-size bed dominating the hotel room. He lands on his back, toeing at his shoes as his hands fumble for his pants. Derek growls when Stiles's fingers trip over the zipper. Eyebrows raised, Stiles stills.

"Keep going." Derek's voice is rough and ragged, eyes locked on Stiles's fingers.

Swallowing against sudden nerves and a burst of white-hot lust, he lets his fingers linger over the front of his jeans. His dick is a hard line in the denim, and he trails a slow, delicate touch over the ridge. His hips cant up without thought, desperate for something more forceful, but Stiles teases himself as much as he teases Derek with the motion. The quiet slide of the button is followed by the rasp of his zipper, all undercut by Derek's panting breath.

He doesn't take his pants off, just pulls his briefs down far enough for his cock to spring free. He's been hard since they left the club, and the cool air against his skin makes him grit his teeth. Precome leaks from the head, and Stiles runs his thumb over the pearly drop, smearing it into his skin.

On the other side of the room, Derek curses. "If you knew what you looked like right now," Derek says, voice trailing off as he swallows.

Stiles pulls his shirt up before taking himself in hand. He's gained some muscle while he's been at school, and he knows his abs look good when he's lying down like this. As his fingers tighten on his cock, he lets them flex, rolling his body into the touch in a slow, languorous motion that has Derek stepping closer.

"I won't bite," Stiles says as he strokes himself. "Not unless you ask."

Derek laughs, but it does little to soften the hard expression on his face. He stalks toward the bed like the predator he is, pupils blown with lust. The comforter creases under his knees as he climbs on the mattress, the muscles in his legs tensing as he hovers over Stiles's body, his hands pressed into the bed by Stiles's hips.

"I'll ask," he says before leaning down to press a kiss over Stiles's knuckles. It makes Stiles's hand clench, and he hisses at the too-hard touch. Derek laughs, and the gentle exhalation against Stiles's superheated flesh makes his back arch.

"Not gonna be able to fuck you if you keep this up," Stiles says, trying to sound confidently casual rather than wrecked, which is what he is when Derek pulls Stiles's hand away and runs his tongue up Stiles's length.

"You'll be fine," Derek whispers against Stiles's cockhead before taking it between his lips and sucking it down.

Cheeks hollowed, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, Stiles thinks he's never seen anything as singularly erotic as Derek Hale sucking cock. Hands shaking, Stiles threads his fingers into Derek's dark hair. Though he feels frantic, he keeps his touch gentle, letting his hands rest against Derek's scalp as he does his level best to ruin Stiles's life with his mouth.

Derek loses himself in the motion. His eyes drift shut. His hands roam across Stiles's body. They trace fiery lines from hips to chest to thighs. All the while, Derek's lips are tight around Stiles's cock, his tongue wet and firm against the sensitive underside of Stiles's length. His mouth moves leisurely up and down, his tongue flicking at the tip when Derek eases off almost all the way, gravity nearly pulling Stiles's cock from Derek's mouth before he dives back down. When one of Derek's hands drifts between Stiles's legs to gently tease at his balls, Stiles arcs against the bed.

"Stop," he pants, hands finally tightening in Derek's hair. The answering groan nearly does him in. "No, no, stop."

Derek pulls off with a positively obscene pop, and Stiles pants for a long moment, staring at the ceiling as he runs through calculus equations and thinks about his Aunt Myrtle at Thanksgiving and Gerard Argent coughing up black goo. The almost-orgasm fades, and Stiles lets his grip ease and his body fall back onto the bed. Derek chuckles against his hip and presses an open-mouthed kiss against the bone there.

"Tell me what you want," he says as his mouth drags against Stiles's body. Teeth trail against muscle, tongue tasting skin.

"You," Stiles says breathlessly. He pulls Derek's head away from his body, enjoys the flash of heat he sees as his grip tightens. "Just you."

With a grace he lacks at any other time, Stiles rolls Derek onto his back. His legs cage Derek's ribs, and his cock juts out from his jeans obscenely, twitching as he feels Derek tense beneath him.

Stiles feels like he's burning alive under Derek's eyes.

"Off," he commands, shifting his body so that Derek can strip. As he settles back on the bed, gloriously naked, Stiles swears time stops.

He's seen Derek in various states of dress and undress. He knows the muscled curve of Derek's calves from the few blessed times he's caught him in basketball shorts. Knows the taut line of his arms in tank tops, the planes and angles of his chest and stomach as hems rise up his body.

Those hints are nothing compared to the beautiful whole. There's sweat clinging to Derek’s bronzed, smooth skin. A thin coat of hair covers his pecs, almost invisible except for the way the hotel lights catch and highlight it. It trails down, disappearing as it traverses the curve of his stomach, only reappearing and transforming into a thick patch of pubic hair, a neat and tidy nest for Derek's absolutely incredible cock.

Stiles has seen his fair share of dicks before. Hell, he's seen _this_ dick before. He's had it in his hands, in his mouth. But in the full light, the gentle curve of it resting against Derek's body, his pulse visible in the thin tracery of veins under the skin, the flushed tip that gleams with wetness, it's honestly the most beautiful dick he's ever seen in his life.

"Holy hell." He whispers the words like a prayer. Honestly, he's going to need divine intervention to make it through this without blowing his load.

Derek raises an eyebrow and looks to Stiles's jeans. "You going to do something about those?"

"No," he says, feeling petty as he takes in Derek's supernatural—ha—beauty. "Turn over."

Eyes flashing blue, Derek shifts beneath Stiles, easing onto his front with a shiver that runs through his body and sends Stiles's heart racing. He gives into the order so easily, it leaves Stiles's head spinning.

Derek's back is, God help him, just as beautiful as his front. But at least Stiles has plenty of experience with this expanse of skin and muscle. He trails his fingers over the swirl of Derek's tattoo, then retraces the symbol with his tongue. Derek gasps at the touch, and Stiles does it again, dragging his tongue over the slightly raised flesh. A full body shiver is his response, and he grins, feeling more confident about where he stands with a naked, prone Derek Hale.

Giving into years of repressed desire, he takes his time traveling over the terrain of Derek's body. It rises and falls like rolling hills, and Stiles covers every gleaming inch of it with his lips and hands. By the time his mouth and fingers reach the plump globes of Derek's ass, he's panting as much as Derek is. They both groan when Stiles squeezes.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he says into the dimples at the base of Derek's back. 

"You're fucking torture," Derek says in reply, his voice muffled by the comforter. When Stiles looks up, he sees that Derek's shredded the pillows, his nails turned to claws as he fights for control. "Get on with it already."

"Still need that lube," Stiles says with a swift grin. He lets his thumbs dip into the valley between Derek's ass cheeks. "Unless you don't want—"

Derek lifts his head so fast, Stiles hears his neck crack. "Nightstand drawer," Derek says, "and if you stop, I will rip your throat out with my _teeth_."

"Shush," Stiles says with a laugh. He presses another kiss to Derek's back, then climbs over him to get the lube. He tosses it onto the bed, then shimmies out of his jeans and briefs. Derek devours him with his eyes and grinds his hips into the bed with a groan.

He buries his face in his arms, then grinds against the bed again. "Get the fuck in me," he says, muffled again. "Please."

It's the ‘please’ that does it. It's not really like Derek Hale is begging for Stiles's cock, but _Derek Hale is begging for Stiles's cock._ He has to fight the urge to cackle and knows his expression has gone from lust-filled to fucking _elated_. Pressing a quick kiss to the curve of Derek's shoulder and whispering praise into the skin there, Stiles makes his way down Derek's body until he's kneeling between Derek's legs, his cock hard and aching at the picture before him.

"Give me a pillow," he orders, and Derek throws it at him, hitting Stiles's in the face in an eruption of torn fabric and feathers. He laughs again, then helps Derek lift his hips up, his knees falling further open until Stiles can see the heavy weight of Derek's balls and the wrinkled pucker of Derek's asshole.

He leans forward, then drags his tongue over it. Derek shivers beneath him, and Stiles laughs again before going to work. His tongue and fingers open Derek's willing body. His ears drink in the sounds of pleasure—groans and moans and curses—pouring from Derek's mouth. When he breaches Derek's ring with two fingers, scissoring him open, Derek whimpers.

"You okay?" Stiles asks, stilling.

"Yes." Derek presses his ass back, taking more of Stiles's fingers. "I'm ready, goddammit. Fuck me already."

Stiles quirks his fingers, hunting for Derek's prostate and finding it. He presses the bundle of nerves, watches as Derek's muscles lock.

"So needy," he says softly before pulling his fingers free. He grabs the lube from the bed and pours a liberal amount on his cock, working it over his length with a quick series of strokes that has him shuddering. He lines himself up, presses the tip of his dick against Derek's asshole, and then breathes out slowly as he works himself into Derek's body.

It's hot and tight and warm, and Stiles has to close his eyes against the overwhelming sensation of easing his way into the body beneath him.

"Fuck," Derek says, his voice a mix of frustration and broken lust. He raises his hips, taking Stiles in deeper in a rush that leaves Stiles's breath caught in his throat. "Stiles."

He grabs Derek's hips like a lifeline and presses forward until he's buried in Derek's body. Praying that he'll make this good for Derek—it's already the most mind-blowing experience of his life, no contest—Stiles starts to thrust. He pulls back until he's almost out, then slams back into Derek's body in a steady, even rhythm that has Derek writhing beneath him. Stiles can tell when he finds Derek's prostate because his whole body tightens, then shivers, and his hands dig into the ruined blankets.

Derek's face is turned to the side, his mouth open on panting gasps as Stiles's drags pleasure from him. Eyes half-lidded, but glowing blue, he keeps his gaze locked on Stiles, his fingers tangled in the sheets. Stiles's chest is tight, his fingers tighter as they dig into Derek's hips, pulling him up so that Stiles's cock glides against Derek's prostate with each thrust.

He's come once already tonight, but even though he should be able to last longer than usual, his orgasm bubbles up quickly. His lower back tingles, his stomach tightens, and he grits out a warning that makes Derek's eyes finally close.

"Fuck," Derek moans, head and hips tilted back. "Fuck, I'm going to come. Goddammit."

Stiles thinks in a half-daze that he's never heard someone sound so angry about orgasm, but then Derek's clenching down around Stiles's dick, and moaning Stiles's name, and Stiles tumbles after him, vision going white around the edges and his throat tight on a shout that sounds like Derek's name.

It plows through him, leaves his body shaking and shuddering as he tries to stay deep inside of Derek. His hips press hard against the firm flesh of Derek's ass, and when he falls over, his hands find themselves tangled with Derek's, Stiles's forehead pressed against the dip between Derek's shoulder blades.

They breathe quietly, both of them desperately trying to get their heart rates back to normal. Slowly, carefully, Stiles presses a kiss to Derek's back. He lets his mouth trail up to Derek's neck, then around to the side. As he falls over and out, Derek lifts his head and turns to face Stiles, his eyes still glowing a soft blue.

"Hey," Stiles says, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and uncomfortable.

Derek's eyes crinkle. "Hey." Their hands are still tangled together, and Derek brings Stiles's to his mouth and kisses it. "Why are you being an idiot right now?"

"I'm not." Stiles tries to pull his hand back, but Derek's grip tightens. Sourly, Stiles stops trying to get away and let's Derek brush his lips over Stiles's knuckles.

"You are. Don't overthink it."

"That's what I do, though."

"Hm." Derek starts to pull away. "Maybe don't, then."

Stiles doesn't let him get far, stops the roll of Derek's body by throwing his leg over Derek's lower back and pinning him to the mattress. "Why are you here?"

"Work."

"We both know you don't really work. So, why are you in Alexandria?"

Derek looks at Stiles like he's an idiot, but there's a touch of fondness there, of yearning. "Do you really need me to answer that question?"

Stiles thinks—definitely doesn't _over_ think—and shakes his head. "No."

Derek presses another kiss to Stiles's knuckles, then drags him closer. "Good." His eyes close. "Go to sleep, Stiles."

"All right."

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I promised [clotpolesonly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly) a Bottom Derek fic, and I always keep my promises.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely [luulapants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luulapants/pseuds/luulapants) for the beta. You're a gem. 😘


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